Mourning Song
by sonnet to eva
Summary: James and Lily show different reactions to a fallen friend. PostHogwarts and PreHarry Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all things affiliated with it are the sole possessions of J.K. Rowling

"**Mourning Song"**

"_We see these adolescents mourning for a lost childhood."  
David Elkind_

Rain drizzled into the streets of London and cast a gray glow that seemed to bounce off the tall buildings. Those outside carried with them umbrellas, mostly black. It was unusually cold for early April and Lily Evans stalked the streets in her black coat, one hand jammed in her pocket, a white bag dangling from the wrist, the other holding a pathetic newspaper over her head as she dashed from corner to corner in an attempt to make it home as quick as possible. She'd been unforgivably forgetful the past few weeks, resulting in numerous umbrella-less trips in the rain and scores of forgotten appointments and meetings. Finally Lily spotted her building and, in a moment of wild abandon, tore across the street with disregard for any sort of automobile that could be passing. Scurrying up the stairs, Lily whipped a key from the pocket her first hand lay in. She had, by some miracle of God, managed to unlock the door and dash inside in a matter of seconds. She then indulged in a few minutes to catch her breath while leaning against the door. Too soon she pushed away and made for the stairs. After climbing one flight she headed down a hallway and unlocked the door to her flat. Sighing as she entered, Lily threw the bag from her wrist onto a nearby chair, unceremoniously dropped the saggy evening edition onto the floor, the occupants of the front page's pictures glaring disgustedly at her for using them as protection against the harsh rain, and discarded her coat onto a hook that lay to the left of the entrance. Unexpectedly, she lowered herself onto the haunches of her legs and sat with her head in her hands, curled into herself, as drops of water fell from her hair, usually a vibrant red but now almost brown and lackluster from the rain, onto her back. Lily glanced at her watch a couple of minutes later and reluctantly rose from her comforting position, grabbed the bag she'd left nearby, and walked through a door and narrow hallway to reach her small kitchen. James was due to arrive in forty-five minutes and she desperately needed to start dinner.

Setting the shopping bag down on the countertop, Lily shrugged out of her gray wool sweater and slung it over a chair that sat at a miniscule white table that had been shoved into the room and preceded to pull vegetables from the bag. After discarding the sack she reached for a cutting board from the shelf above the stove and a knife from a drawer. Before beginning her foray into the culinary world, Lily flicked the switch on the radio she kept in the kitchen. Immediately the sound of Bach's "Cello Sonata in g" filled every corner of the tiny space along with a methodic chopping noise as the vegetables were viciously destroyed and thrown into a pan that had been plucked from a cabinet.

James had knocked seven times and waited very patiently (or at least he thought) for ten long minutes before simply and brazenly turning the handle on the door to her flat. It was no surprise when he discovered that the door was completely unlocked; much to his own fury, in the past few weeks Lily had drifted into more than her usual state of nonchalance, forgetting to reset the wards around her flat and causing James hours of worry in addition to his ever-present nervousness. Her usual feisty temperament had slowly melted into indifference and he was not the only person to take a genuine interest in her physical and mental well-being. When he entered the flat. James distinctly smelled the scent of cooking food and indistinctly heard the low hum of classical music. He began to take his coat off until he felt a clammy draft sweep through the space. Looking into the bedroom and reception room, whose doorways stood within a few feet of the entrance, he noticed that all of Lily's large windows had been flung open. Sighing, he followed his nose towards the kitchen. Not more than three steps into his journey did he step on something distinctly soggy and, looking down, James saw the remains of a wet, gray newspaper. Quirking an eyebrow in confusion, he continued on his way. When he entered the insignificant kitchen he saw a pan of simmering vegetables on the stove, bread laid out in a basket, a roast sitting on the counter, and no sign of Lily.

"Lily?" he called out, tired by the mere thought of searching for her. "Lily! Are you here?" After no answer came (he'd expected none), James looked at the open door that led to the small balcony that jutted out from the building. Hoping to find nothing there, he resolutely stuck his head out of the door and into the damp, cold air that the rain had left. James noticed Lily sitting on the floor against the outdoor wall of her flat, coatless, and altogether pathetic looking. She had always been pale, inherited as a part of her ancestry, but lately Lily was constantly an ashen white. The rest of her appearance provided even less color; black pants and a white shirt hung loosely off of her, a sign that she'd been skipping meals, and her normally warm hair sat drably and damply about her shoulders, bangs covering her left eye. James felt the rage build inside him the longer he looked at her.

"Get inside," James snapped, his hands shaking with the anger he felt. More annoying still, all Lily did was remain sitting, staring at the sky, and not seeing anything. Starting forward, James roughly grabbed her arms and yanked her up before forcibly pushing her indoors, following, and slamming the door behind him. Inside the oppressively white kitchen he could feel his anger slipping and the constant desperation he now always felt around Lily begin to fill his middle, pooling in the pit of his stomach before spreading through his arms and legs, resting in his very fingers and toes, clogging his throat. Lily's breath came in uneven, shaky gasps as though she'd not breathed for hours and was now attempting to make up for the lost oxygen.

"Jesus, Lil, it's bloody freezing in here. Why the hell are all the windows open?"

"I couldn't breathe," she countered shakily. Around them drifts of a cello circled about their heads in a serpentine manner. "Bach," Lily stated simply.

"What's that?" James tiredly and monotonously inquired, not sure he'd heard her correctly.

"It's Bach. On the radio…they're playing Bach." Unsure of how to answer, he rubbed his eyes and simply asked if she needed any help with dinner. "You can set the table," she informed him, still on the floor where she'd landed when he'd thrown her in. Nodding resolutely, James grabbed the plates that sat on the table and headed for the other room.

They sat in silence, James fingering the top of his glass as Lily pushed food around her plate with a fork that had entered her mouth only twice. Before they'd sat down at the table that stood in her reception room James had closed and bolted all of the open windows, shutting in the dank, repressive air and the musty smell of rain. Evening had crept upon them and gray seemed to jump around the room, capturing everything in its cruel hold. Silence had reigned during the whole affair and James wondered how much longer he could stay before he'd throw up. He could feel his own sanity slip away the longer he was in her presence; she was infecting him, sucking away his reality. Agonizingly, seconds ticked away and James counted all of them. Looking up he couldn't even tell if Lily was breathing. He could feel his nails dig into his palm, the fury building once more; everything about her made him mad.

Forcefully pushing his chair back, James stood and went to retrieve the parcel that lay in his coat pocket. Lily made no motion, continuing to silently stare at her fork as it dragged the food across her plate. Returning to the room, James slammed a black, velvet case on the table, staring at Lily, silently pleading for a response. She'd stopped playing with her food, her fork rested limply in her stilled hand, her eyes resting on the black box, refusing to meet his intrusive gaze.

"She's dead to all of us too," James told her, his voice breaking. "She didn't just abandon you; she deserted everyone." Lily could only stare at the case, eyes unblinking. "You make no sense!" he screamed at her. "We all loved her! She was our friend _too!_" Unable to look at her emotionless face any longer James turned around and stared out at a leafless oak tree. He heard the familiar strain of a cello from somewhere in the flat. "She left that to you, specifically instructed that you have it," he told her with no inflection. He supposed that she was now opening the box and inspecting its contents. Turning he saw that all Lily had done was drop her fork. He shook from the anger he felt as he screamed, "open it you fool!"

Tentatively reaching her hand out, Lily grabbed the case and, heartbreakingly, slowly opened it. Inside sat a small necklace made of silver that gently wound around a single stone that, even in the brutal gray, reflected a beautiful green: peridot. Lily's hands shook violently as she dropped the box.

"You don't even appreciate it, do you?" James questioned flatly.

"You don't understand," came her small voice. James laughed breathily, silently mocking her statement. "No, you don't," she said, her tone wavering. "She was _all_ I had left."

"What about me?" he asked a few minutes later, nausea grabbing hold of him, making him sway slightly.

"No, love, not all that I _have_, all that I had _left_."

"From what?" James questioned, dully, terrified of her answer.

"From my…childhood. Mum and Dad have both died now and Petunia left me ages ago. But Marina—Marina was the one remnant that I had. God James, I met her on the train to school, she's the reason I got _through_ Hogwarts." Lily slowly started to finger the beautiful necklace softly; Marina had begun wearing it in their sixth year, shortly after the death of her father. Lily remembered when she and Marina found it in his wardrobe that Christmas holiday, sitting in the black case that now sat before her. Remembered how Marina had exploded into a whirlwind, smashing her father's possessions as she threw things against the walls; afterwards she'd gone downstairs and begun to play on the piano, mourning, for the first time, the mother she'd never known and the father who'd kept daughter from mother, unable to forget his dead spouse and she who he viewed as her innocent murderer.

"But that doesn't explain _anything!_" James yelled, his hands tearing at his hair. "That doesn't _explain_ why you're starving yourself! That _doesn't explain_ why you've stopped talking to _anyone!_ _That doesn't explain why you've died along with her!_ She chose that assignment Lily, she knew full well that what Dumbledore asked of her would kill her, and she _agreed to it anyways! _How can you mourn someone so deeply that _killed herself!_"

"Because, darling James," she spoke almost inaudibly, tears roaming freely down her face for the first time since she'd heard the news about her, "she did so _for me_. So that I wouldn't have to face the monster that was hunting _me_ down." James felt his heart jump into his throat and he knew that if he didn't leave _now_ he'd hurl. He flew from her flat; hastily grabbed his jacket and left her door open in his hurry to escape the tyrannical air that circled them, filled his lungs, stopped him from breathing, and nearly crushed him under its weight. He did not know if he'd ever return (he did, the very next day, to help Lily pack and move into his own flat with him), but he knew that he needed time to think over everything: Lily; Marina; his own friends, whom he viewed as the sole leftovers of his own lost adolescence. Through the open door, wafts of Bach's "Cello Sonata in g" floated into the hallway and stopped anyone that heard it, just as it had stopped Lily two years ago on a cold December night.

_Fin _

Author's Note: Bach is my favorite composer and this composition my particular favorite. Please take the time to review. I completely understand that I am not a creative writer (in fact the only thing I'm remotely good at are essays—particularly ones written for scholarships) and would appreciate all criticism that you, as readers, can give. Someone told me I don't think enough about my audience and I only hope that my style and skill as a writer makes up for this atrocious forgetfulness.

As a side note, the necklace plays a double-role (Ooo, symbolism, the orgasm of all English teachers!); peridot is thought to possess the following: good luck; peace; success; health; **_protection_**; sleep; attract love; calm anger; sooth nerves; dispel negative emotions.


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